


keeping tradition

by anotherplaceintime (marvelleous)



Series: snapshots [4]
Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Feels, Father's Day, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/anotherplaceintime
Summary: “Da, do ye remember when I came to ye, that first year, and told ye that I had found her, the other half of my soul? I was still a boy then, but I am a man now… and I’m soon tae be a father.”Jamie Fraser celebrates his first Father's day as a Da.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser & Jenny Fraser, Jamie Fraser & Murtagh Fraser
Series: snapshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785904
Comments: 35
Kudos: 131





	keeping tradition

Tradition has always played a major role in Jamie's life. 

There were the biannual camping trips with his father and older siblings; wading through rivers, with ice cold water lapping at their shins as they learned to catch fish with their bare hands. Then, there was Christmas Eve. It was an uncomfortable affair spent with his father's side of the family as their dour-faced grandfather handed out the same gifts to his _many_ descendants.The following day would always be spent with just his parents and siblings, sitting beneath their decorated tree at home. Wearing hideous matching jumpers, they would tear into the presents, leaving behind a mess of shredded wrapping paper. Hogmanay was celebrated with his mother's side of the family until she passed. The new year’s festivities became a quieter affair after that year, commemorated with only his father, godfather and sister for company.

Years passed, measured in those they had lost and those they had gained, but the traditions remained.

Each year, on the morning of the third Sunday of June, he would be up before dawn, making the three hour drive back home to Lallybroch. Jenny would always be waiting for him by the front door, an overflowing picnic basket in her hands, and they'd make their way down the winding road that led to their father's final resting place. 

The morning was always spent reminiscing and regaling their father with stories of their own lives, sharing with him all the memories they had created for themselves, believing that he could hear them. _Together_ , they would lay out their family tartan by their father's grave and remember the man that had been there for them throughout their entire childhood. This was the man who had told them tales of lochs and water horses when they refused to sleep and held them in his arms when they were afraid. 

They would visit on birthdays and holidays too, with Jenny and Ian's bairns in tow, but this day, _Father's day,_ was special. It had always been just the two of them - him and Jenny and hours with their _Da_ , ending with a shot of whisky. A toast, poured in his honour. 

But this year, things were different.

He had been slightly anxious when he called Jenny a few weeks earlier, hands shaking as he listened to the dial tone, waiting for her to answer the phone. With two wee terrors wreaking havoc around the house, it often took a few tries before she would answer, and the nerves had almost gotten the best of him when she finally picked up.

_"If I didna see ye on all those magazine covers all the time, I woulda thought ye were dead bràthair."_

They had bantered _(argued)_ for a while, as they always did, catching each other up on the new developments in their life. And then, unable to contain his joy any longer, he blurted it out.

_"Claire is pregnant, Jenny. I'm going tae be a da."_

There had been a long pause, one that made his palms sweat and muscles tense until he heard her hollering for Ian, shouting that _"my clotheid of a brother is finally going tae make me an aunt."_

She had launched into a tirade of questions, asking how Claire was coping, when the bairn was due, and whether or not they knew the gender yet. Her excitement over the news gave him hope that she would understand what he had to ask of her. 

_"Do ye think… would it be okay if Claire came wi' us this year?"_

His question was purposely vague, but he knew Jenny would be able to comprehend it. He had heard her soft sigh and could only imagine the expression on her face and the thoughts within her mind. When she had been pregnant for the first time, with wee Jamie, she had asked for a moment alone with their mam during their annual Mother's day visit, but he understood that the situation was not exactly the same. 

_"I think that there's nothing that Da would want more,"_ she had responded, and he could hear unshed tears in the tremble of her voice.

They had talked things over, discussing the finer details of their plans for the day, and Jenny ended the call with words that warmed his heart.

_“I am sae proud of ye.”  
  
_

* * *

This year, he drives to Lallybroch the night before, with Claire in the passenger’s seat, humming along to the radio. She had been apprehensive when he first told her about the trip, knowing how important the day was to him and not wanting to intrude on his time with his father and sister. He had reassured her that Jenny was enthusiastic about the idea, and that they were a family now. Of course, she had burst into tears then, crying into his shirt as he chuckled lightly and stroked her hair. 

They make a pit-stop at their favourite diner on the way there, picking up an order of chips, of which she only spares him three, feeding them to him between bites of her own, squealing when he nips at her fingertips, licking the salt from her skin. 

She falls asleep when they’re about thirty minutes away, head lolling to the side, emitting soft snores as she cradles the swell of her belly with both arms. When they arrive, he carries her up to his childhood bedroom, with Jenny close behind, lugging their shared overnight bag with her. He tucks her in, knowing that the walls of the manor can make for a chilly night, even during the summer, and turns to see his sister watching him with a grin on her face. He smiles in return and follows her out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. They make their way downstairs and curl up on the sofa in front of the fire that burns year round, each nursing a glass of whisky. 

“So I spoke wi’ Murtagh this mornin’. Ian’s going tae pick him up from the airport tomorrow, and then he’ll stay wi’ us fer a few days,” Jenny relays to him, taking her drink with a sigh of contentment. 

His godfather had been in America for the past few months for business, _and pleasure_ , if the rumours of his relationship with their Aunt Jocasta were to be believed. The man had been a constant presence in their lives growing up, and they had spent many holidays and celebrations together throughout the years. 

“He doesna ken, does he?”

Jenny shakes her head at that, lips tugging into a slight smirk.

“I dinna think he kens, though he did make a comment that he hasna seen much o’ Claire on billboards and magazines lately.”

“And what did ye say to that?” 

“I was going tae answer that I didna ken what he was on about, but then wee Jamie came running in, cryin’ that Maggie had bit him, and I had tae hang up.”

They share a laugh and then Jenny leans forward, resting a hand on his knee. 

“Fer what it’s worth, even if the old coot does suspect something, it willna make his joy any less.”

He nods, excitement thrumming in his veins, and downs the rest of his drink in one go, twirling the glass around with his fingers. 

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

* * *

  
In the morning, he is awoken by the sound of Claire’s voice and the weight of her body above his. 

“Happy Father’s Day.”

When his eyes flutter open, he sees her hovering over him, a sleepy smile on her face. She kisses him, a soft peck on his lips and then shifts backwards, allowing him to move into an upright position before she situates herself on his lap. In the morning light, she resembles an angel, pale skin aglow, a halo of dark brown curls and a dusting of rose pink blush across her face.

“Good morning, mo nighean donn,” he says, voice still hoarse from sleep. 

His hands support her weight as she leans back, allowing him room to bend and greet their daughter as well. He presses a kiss at the top of the bump, and whispers words of affection, resting his head between her breasts as she runs a hand through his curls. They stay like that for a while, until Claire inevitably needs to use the bathroom, and they begin to prepare for the day. 

As he dresses, he can hear wee Jamie and Maggie tottering in the hallways outside, screaming salutations to their father. He imagines it, a year from now; waking up to the incoherent babbling of his own bairn, melodic laughter like her mother’s, as she sits upon his chest, grabbing at his face with her wee hands.

He gets lost in the fantasy for a moment, until Claire re-enters the room, laying a hand on his arm and bringing him back to reality. She’s wearing a yellow sundress, the fabric cinched just below her breasts, flowing over the swell of her middle and her smile as bright as the rays of the sun itself. 

_Sorcha_. 

She hugs him then, wrapping her arms around him to the best of her ability, and whispers that she’ll be waiting for him. 

* * *

Some things are the same.

He and Jenny sit together, fighting over bannocks, as they tell their father about their lives, including detailed accounts of events that some might find mundane; Jenny speaks of wee Jamie’s incident with a particularly grumpy sheep and Maggie’s new tooth. He talks about his job and the awful designs he had been forced to model during his last shoot. 

They toast to another year gone by; to the memories created and to all the joys in life. Then, they pack up what’s left of the food, throwing tufts of dried grass at one another and laughing the way they did when they were children.

The morning is bleeding into noon with the sun high in the sky. Jenny leaves with the half empty basket, off to tend to her chores while he heads back to the house to fetch Claire. They had discussed their plans for today at length, and in the end decided that he and Jenny should still get to have that alone time with their father; Claire had insisted on it. She could barely remember her own parents, having lost them so early in life, and she knew the importance of this day for them. He was aware of her own rituals as well; while he and Jenny had been spending time with their father, she had stayed at the manor, on the phone with her Uncle Lamb, who was off on yet another excavation. 

But now is the time for them to create new traditions, together. 

They walk slowly with her tucked into his side, her arm around his waist and his around her shoulders, enjoying the warmth, and light, and nature around them. The fields are littered with wildflowers, splashes of colour blooming against the green, and Claire laughs as he bends and plucks a bloom, tucking it into her curls. 

He’s very cautious as they approach the family plot, knowing the uneven ground can make for a treacherous journey; he had turned an ankle himself as a child. Claire indulges his over-protective nature, making a show of stepping with care, allowing him to support her weight, but he cannot breathe easily until they’re standing hand in hand in front of his father’s headstone. 

_“_ Da, do ye remember when I came to ye, that first year, and told ye that I had found her, the other half of my soul? I was still a boy then, but I am a man now… and I’m soon tae be a father.”

Claire squeezes his hand, offering him a watery smile, and he imagines his father can see him, standing there with the love of his life and their future child, his future grandchild. 

“I ken you woulda loved tae meet my Claire, and our daughter.” He pulls her closer then, slipping an arm around her waist and setting a hand onto Claire’s belly. He feels their daughter nudge his palm and then there’s a single tear running down his cheek. “I wish ye were still here with me, but I ken yer up there wi’ ma and Willie. I hope that ye’re proud. I can only aspire tae be half the man ye were, half the father ye were tae me. Ye taught me so much, Da, and I’ll carry it wi’ me, always.”

He lets out a choked sob, pressing his fingertips to his lips and then reaching forward, touching the stone, rough and sun-warmed. 

“Happy Father’s Day,” he whispers. 

“Happy Father’s Day,” Claire echoes.

He cries into her hair afterwards, holding her tightly, letting the sound of her voice calm him.

* * *

Ian rings them from the airport once Murtagh’s flight has touched down, and Jenny begins the struggle of getting wee Jamie and Maggie dressed in preparation for their night out. She and Ian would be taking the children out for their own celebrations as a family of four, leaving him and Claire to spend some time alone with his godfather. As far as Jamie knew, Murtagh had no idea that he and Claire were spending the weekend at Lallybroch, and he can only hope Ian manages to keep the secret during the long drive home. 

“Jamie, get back here ye wee rascal!”

He hears Jenny yelling, a moment before wee Jamie rushes into the room, completely nude, having escaped the clutches of his mother. Claire snorts from beside him and he can’t help but laugh as Jenny comes running in afterwards, a half-dressed and wailing Maggie in her arms as wee Jamie continues his bout of terror. 

“Ye think this is funny do ye? Just wait until ye’ve got multiple bairns running underfoot and we’ll see who’s laughing then.”

Jenny glares at him, and then shoots a hand out, managing to grab wee Jamie by the wrist. He squirms against her iron grip, to no avail.

“I am confident that Claire and I will be able to handle our twelve wonderful bairns when the time comes.” 

She scoffs at him then, and drags her two wee terrors from the room, muttering under her breath. Claire digs an elbow into his ribs and fixes him with a pointed look. 

“You want _twelve_ children?”

He runs a hand through his hair, shrugging sheepishly, considering how to respond to avoid confrontation. She might laugh, or cry, or rage at him; it’s entirely impossible to predict, so he goes with his heart. 

“I wish fer as many bairns as God sees fit tae grant us. Whether it just be our wee miracle here, or an even dozen.” 

He lays a hand over her belly as he speaks; he has enough love in his heart for a dozen children, or even more, but even if they were to only have one daughter, he would still be the happiest man alive. 

Claire smiles, pulling him closer, as she rests her forehead against his cheek.

“I love you, you ridiculous man,” she whispers, giggling as he begins to pepper her face with kisses. 

“And I ye, Sassenach.”

* * *

He and Claire hide away in the kitchen when Ian returns with Murtagh in tow, laughing and shushing each other as they listen to the conversations taking place in the front hallway. She’s seated behind the island bench top, at a height that manages to conceal her belly, and he’s standing on the opposite side, a wrapped gift in his hands, trembling in anticipation. 

“We’ve left something for ye in the kitchen,” he hears Jenny say, before goodbyes are exchanged, accompanied by the sound of the front door being closed and locked. Each footstep has his heart rate increasing, and then Murtagh is walking into the room, an expression of shock appearing on his face as he sees them. 

“I shoulda kent ye’d try and pull something like this on me,” he says, smiling with all of his teeth, and shaking his head. He opens his arms and Jamie moves forward into them, pulling him close. Their embrace is fierce, rib-cracking, and Jamie remembers a time when he had been shorter than his godfather, even as he towers over him now. When they finally move apart, Murtagh claps him on the back; and they stand there for a moment, both smiling like idiots before Claire clears her throat.

“And ye’ve brought Claire. How are ye lass?”

Jamie listens, tries to be patient as the two of them converse, discussing the things they’ve been up to since they saw one another last (when Murtagh had visited them in Glasgow just before Hogmanay), but steps in when Murtagh moves to hug Claire as well. 

“We have a wee gift for ye,” he says, handing over the package, trying to conceal the tremor in his voice. 

He moves back then, to stand behind Claire, draping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Murtagh fixes them with a suspicious glare, raising one bushy eyebrow as he rips the wrapping paper. 

There’s a moment of silence as the torn pieces fall to the ground, leaving behind a neatly folded shirt. Jamie hears the sharp inhale as the Murtagh holds the shirt up by the collar, sees the way he abruptly swallows, looking at them with tears in his eyes. 

He and Claire had picked up the shirt earlier in the week, having had it custom printed, emblazoned with the Fraser crest and three words;

_World’s Best Grandfather_

“Are ye…” Murtagh asks, voice thick with unshed tears, and they both nod, smiles on their faces as Claire stands and moves forward, proudly displaying her belly. 

“Surprise!” she exclaims, laughing at the gobsmacked expression on his face as he looks from the shirt, to her, to Jamie, in rapid succession. In that moment, there are no more words left to say as Murtagh moves forward and sweeps her into an embrace, the surprise and wonder and excitement on his face unwavering as he continues to shake his head, making eye contact with Jamie over Claire’s shoulder. They stay like that for close to a minute before she’s released, and Jamie comes up behind her, resting a hand on the small of her back. 

“I cannae believe ye kept it a secret fer so long. I kent I was right tae be suspicious when I saw yer gob on more magazine covers than yer sweet lassie’s.”

“We wanted tae surprise ye, and today seemed like the right occasion.” 

Both of his eyebrows rise at that statement, but before Jamie can clarify, Claire excuses herself, muttering that she has to go and pee again. She pauses by the doorway, smiling back at them and rests a hand on her bump.

“When she’s awake later, you’ll be able to feel her moving around.” 

With that, she leaves the room and Jamie turns to see Murtagh grinning once more. 

“A wee lassie?”

“Aye.” 

His godfather claps him on the shoulder once more, and then asks the question he had clearly been wanting to just before Claire’s bladder had interrupted.

“Why did ye wait until today tae tell me?” 

He’s rehearsed this moment in his mind a thousand times. Out loud, a hundred more, speaking to his own reflection in the mirror when Claire got sick of the sound of his voice. There have been wordy speeches, monologues that have him repeating the same phrases, trying to find the right words to express his sentiments. Now, he chooses to make it simple, no flowery language and excessive prose. 

“Tis father’s day, and ye’ve always been like a father tae me. Even though I am tae be a one now, I’ll ne’er be too old to have a father in my life.”

They both break then. His own eyes are cloudy, watery, even as he sees the fat tears beginning to roll down his godfather’s ruddy cheeks, and they fall into another embrace. 

“I would be proud tae call ye my son.”

When Claire comes back seven or so minutes later, they’re still standing there. Two grown men, crying together. 

A family of choice, a family of blood. 

She reaches for both their hands, pulls them to her belly where their daughter has indeed woken up, turning and tumbling and making her presence known. 

“I cannae wait tae meet… my granddaughter.”

It’s the start of a new chapter of their lives, filled with endless possibilities. He knows that no matter what, their daughter will grow up with so much love in her life. She’ll have the best mother, a wonderful aunt and uncle, cousins to play with, and a grandfather who would love and protect her.

A man who has loved and protected him his entire life.

And his father, watching over her from the skies above.

_She’ll have him too._

He does not know how he’ll fare as a father, but he vows to love her, unconditionally, with his entire heart and soul, and hopes it’s enough. 

He has _faith_ that it _will_ be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> A major thank you to Bea (SasseSNACK95) for stepping in to edit this one for me! As always, I would like to express my appreciation who everyone who has taken the time to read this story. If you enjoyed it, please let me know by leaving a kudos or a comment, or hit me up on twitter! 😊


End file.
